Monday, July 1, 2013

Post Two Hundred and Eleven: Roll On.

A perfect* gentleman entered and exited my life, romantically speaking, and I'd probably let him do it all again.

I was sure that I'd be able to record our days together, our quiet work nights in and our noisy weekends out. There was something intrinsically supportive born in the early days of our relationship that made me feel dynamic and inspired, and even though I was reluctant to settle into monogamy I felt so swiftly bewitched by his perspective. And those eyes. The way his hair sometimes fell across his face and called to my hand like a magnet. The exemplary steering wheel percussion. The Seinfeld Sessions. The.....fuck.......the almost everything.

You know what the Rolling Stones say. You can't always get what you want.

I wanted more than what I could have. Within reason, but without a basis in reality.

In retrospect I can see that I wasted more time in being consumed with the fear of losing the relationship than I did in actually enjoying it. Circumstances changed but the contract couldn't. I was like a fat woman and a packet of twinkies; it was comforting but we were just no good for each other. That and twinkies can't actually sustain you.

I cried like a fucking child for days because I guess we just don't go into these things thinking that they will fail. Especially at an age where people are having children, not acting like them.

And unrequited love is just sad.

I'm ok. I really hope he is. I also hope that he doesn't think that I want to eat him.

Peace. x

*Perfect, with discretional allowances.


  1. Oh, darling ... I know how you're feeling and it's fucked, really. Just fucked. Big love to you.

  2. It is a tough dynamic to get working, keep working. And you can only believe it for so long, if at all.

    There is a sadness in it though. If you can not open peoples eyes for them, not even with death. Or my latest blow: not even with their own death when it is impending with a declared velocity.

    That was the last bastion.

    So can you only open the eyes of the young? Was I gotten to early, and you early enough; but the more wires others accrue, if we are finite as beings (even just on this plane), is there then a critical mass? Are those with eyes even partially open part of a very short evolutionary cul de sac, by necessity.

    Do we then do people a disservice in showing them beneath the curtain at all, if they lack the time or have been granted a "pathology regeneration circuit" that is faster than we are in removing pathology? More committed, definitely. That is not even a question. Relentless.

    If the power of it is reinforced by others and environment in a way beyond anyone. Or if we had have been got to a year earlier. I can see something. But not completely, and do I have time now I am 1? When I was timeless, it was different.

    A psychic cancer. I just described a psychic Cancer flourishing in a carcinogenic environment. If it wasn't by accident, it would be cliche.

    And in defence from arrogance, the selfsame bronze, scratched and dented, but in tact shield remains; in lucid moments they agree.

    On paper they scream for help. They'll mirror you. Perfect copies...for a while. Until there is actual new territory. Then, like a drowning oaf, they pull you under rather than work together to get out.

    What about sliding backwards? Never completely, say that isn't possible (as it appears it is not), but enough to suffer. To make the same mistakes from a slightly different angle. Forever. To take actions you already do not really believe in from the start. To try and live it.

    If you can not even assist in opening the eyes of another fully after a terminal velocity is reached, or even if there actually is such a thing as you being "too far ahead" to their very large behind; but yet also you can not close your own eyes again either, not really: yes, there is a sadness in that.

    Or forget forward and backward and just allow different; it does not change the outcome.

    You still want a version of "themness" (that not only isn't real, isn't achievable)on your Lilly pad across some distance, unbridgeable. Theirs will not support your weight. Or you can't reach it either. Whatever. Nothing changes and it fits the data.

    There is a difference in your recognition of their pad though, if sense can be trusted. This suggests at least an ordinal scale.

    Luckily, I do not think that this whole caper is the case, not completely. Not yet. I have an idea or two left. A few words to be Lilly pad bridges, that I'm saving for that rainy day. Some tricks to dazzle. Tricks, yes, but honest ones. Made to order.

    Cry it out hon, there is a lot left, but I think we may have to do more to get less.

    Diminishing returns.

    But still returns, and the cf may not hold on the diminished spoils nor effort yet.

    Failing this, a whole new direction, an entire novel dimension, is required. Which would mean near complete detachment from this one.

    But take heart, adorn yourself with items here that you have labeled as "good", as we are not quite there, not quite yet.